


All I Want For Christmas Challenge

by ThisOldThing



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fic Challenge, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisOldThing/pseuds/ThisOldThing
Summary: Sherlock's epiphany facilitates a coy conversation.





	All I Want For Christmas Challenge

“It just feels wrong,” Joan muttered to herself.

“What was that?”

“I said, it feels wrong,” Joan repeated, swiveling in her place to look at Sherlock.

“Why?” Sherlock asked from where he stood several feet away.

“Because this case is too easy,” Joan said, nodding to the papers in her hand.

“And that concerns you, because…” He shrugged, his lips twisted into a confused frown.

“If it’s this easy, then maybe my conclusion is wrong,” Joan admitted with a simple raise of her brows.

Sherlock frowned again and moved to her side. He took the papers from her hand as she rolled her eyes. He quickly read them and handed them back. “You’re not wrong. Or crazy. The cuckold husband is indeed the murderer.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, looking back at the papers.

“I can’t,” Sherlock replied. “There is always a chance, albeit a slight chance, that I am, indeed, wrong. However, if the ink on that letter is any indication, it did come from Mr. Kingfisher.” Joan looked to Sherlock and he held out his hand, modestly. “I noticed that Mr. Kingfisher had a Waterman Lady Garland fountain pen on his desk, and a pen of that type would leak if used by a neophyte who purchased it in the hopes of looking more refined than he actually was. He never intended to use the pen, mind, it was all for show, but now that he has used it it is his undoing.”

Joan looked at the papers.

“It’s not like you to doubt yourself,” Sherlock said, subtly evaluating Joan. “You are usually quite confident in cases like these.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been going through some–“ Joan stopped herself suddenly. “This is stupid,” she muttered.

Sherlock paused, giving Joan the space to speak and counter her decision to cut herself off, yet when she didn’t, he nodded to himself and took a step away from her. “Not everything is Boolos’ take on Knights and Knaves,” he said, starting to walk toward the stairs. “Sometimes, the answer is exactly as it presents,” he called over his shoulder as he exited the room and headed up the stairs to the roof.

Joan frowned slightly, still looking at the papers as she turned back to face her desk. She placed the papers on the desk and looked up at the wall, her eyes re-reading something that she had tacked to the evidence board the day before. She sighed, and then looked back down at the papers Sherlock had looked over. A moment of quiet went by before she heard the creak of the floorboards behind her.

“Forget something?” Joan asked absently, still going over the papers in front of her, her eyes trained on the blotch of ink that had convinced Sherlock.

“Yes, actually.”

Joan spun, stunned, to see Jamie Moriarty standing casually against the door jamb.

“I had forgotten how even your stance is when you’re engaged in something that puzzles you,” Jamie said. “It’s almost as if you’re commanding attention from yourself, willing yourself to recognize your authority on the subject.”

“What are you doing here?” Joan hissed, taking a quick step forward before stopping abruptly, several feet of distance still between them.

“I came to see you,” Jamie replied, coolly. She was dressed for winter, her long wool opera coat casually unbuttoned in the front revealing a slim black dress beneath. Jamie’s hair was swept up elegantly, and Joan idly wondered if she had just come from the theater.

“Sherlock will be back any minute.”

“No, he won’t,” Jamie said, moving her shoulder from the door jamb and walking into the room more fully. “We both know he’ll be at least an hour with his precious bees.” Jamie smiled, and there was a beat of time between them. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Since?” Joan deadpanned and Jamie tsked in return.

“Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Right, that’s more your game,” Joan said, a tick annoyed as she watched Jamie move to the table in the middle of the room. Jamie tapped her fingertips lightly on the surface before she looked up at Joan. “Why are you really here?” Joan asked.

“You,” Jamie reiterated and Joan frowned.

Joan opened her mouth to speak when she heard movement upstairs, her eyes naturally darting to the stairs. Her breath caught and her eyes fell to Jamie’s face, now taut with anticipation and concentration. The two women stood in place listening, Joan’s breath held, Jamie’s chest rising and falling in a steady, calm rhythm. 

Sherlock’s voice carried down the stairs. “Watson I’ve had an epiphany!”

Joan felt her lungs start to burn from holding her breath and she waited for the shoe to drop, for Sherlock to descend the stairs and see the love of his life casually standing in his work room, flirting with her, when inexplicably, a door slammed upstairs and Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” started to blare, muffled only slightly by the walls and floor, throughout the brownstone.

Joan rolled her eyes, a flood of adrenalin at the near miss surging through her veins. She let out her breath and took in a steady inhale. “He likes to blast music while he thinks.”

“I remember,” Jamie said, and Joan’s face screwed up at the implied memory, at the affection on Jamie’s face.

“Gross.”

Jamie’s smirk grew into a grin and she took a careful step forward. “You don’t miss me?” she asked and Joan frowned.

“Now who’s coy?” Joan asked, watching as Jamie slowly started to move around her in an arc, Jamie’s gaze roaming over the files tacked against the wall. “You won’t find anything, he doesn’t keep his research on you down here.” She heard Jamie’s laugh, now coming from behind her. Joan looked over her left shoulder, watching as Jamie started back to where she came from.

“We could go out,” Jamie said.

“Out,” Joan said, her answer as much of a ‘no’ as if she’d said the word itself.

“In?” Jamie replied, cocking her eyebrow cheekily. “The music is probably loud enough.”

“No,” Joan said simply.

Jamie stopped, not quite back to where she started, far closer to Joan than she’d been at any other time in the encounter. “Why?”

Joan opened her mouth and then stopped. She sighed, slightly defeated, before she met Jamie’s eye. “Because this feels wrong.”

“Ah,” Jamie said, her face exaggerating the word. “And you don’t do, ‘wrong,’” she said.

“If the wrong is you, then no, I shouldn’t,” Joan said, and she realized that it was the ‘shouldn’t’ that would be her undoing. Jamie looked delighted with the slip. Not ‘won’t.’ Not ‘can’t.’ But ‘shouldn’t.’ As if Jamie were the last cookie on the tray that Joan knew she shouldn’t indulge in, yet would eventually give in and have. Joan watched as Jamie took another step away from her, watched the slight puff in her chest, the slight color in her cheeks and it drove Joan mad that all of that was walking away from her.

The women stopped as the song upstairs concluded, the silence between them sudden and stifling before in an instant it was smashed, the song restarting, the volume just as loud as before. “Joan,” Jamie said quietly and Joan’s brow furrowed at the soft look in Jamie’s clear blue eyes. Jamie smiled demurely, then turned and left.

Joan stood still as she heard the front door open and then close, the deadbolt locking with a click as if Jamie had a key. The click is what set Joan off like a starter’s pistol, and she rushed to the door, hastily unlocking it and then stepping out onto the stone porch. Jamie was almost to the sidewalk when Joan’s voice stopped her. “Wait.”

Jamie turned, truly surprised, and slowly started to climb the steps to return to Joan’s side. Joan shivered in the cold, the music and heat from the apartment weakly spilling against her back.

“Change your mind?” Jamie asked, the question a challenge.

“No,” Joan answered, her arms crossed across her chest, goosebumps raised across her skin, her breath a white cloud in front of her face. As soon as Jamie drew even with her Joan stepped forward, her right hand reaching out and grabbing the front of Jamie’s wool coat. Joan pulled Jamie into a kiss, Jamie slipping her arms around Joan’s waist immediately, Joan hunching her shoulders and molding herself into Jamie for warmth. Joan couldn’t savor the kiss, she was too cold, too afraid of Sherlock descending the stairs and catching them like this, too afraid of her own impulse to want more than just this. So after a single long, slow kiss, Joan stepped back, Jamie’s hands reluctantly sliding from her body. “Merry Christmas,” Joan said, taking another step back, her right hand balled into a fist and pulled tight to her chest, her left hand reaching behind her for the doorframe to help guide her inside.

Jamie smiled, the curve of her crooked mouth bittersweet. “Merry Christmas, Joan.” Jamie turned, and walked down the steps, turning left and disappearing into the dark night, Joan watching from her place in the doorway until the cold forced her fully inside, the deadbolt locking her in with a loud click.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "All I Want For Christmas" joaniarty ficathon; challenge was to include Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas in the fic.


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